


Love is an Open Door

by Rabbitqueen, swizzlesticks



Series: All My Life Has Been a Series of Doors in My Face (And then Suddenly I Bumped Into You) [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: And everyone's going to have a Real Bad Time, Hurt/Comfort, More Hurt Than Comfort, it's not our fault Gerry can't stay in one piece, the gang's all here folks, theyre doing their best ok?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22040203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabbitqueen/pseuds/Rabbitqueen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/swizzlesticks/pseuds/swizzlesticks
Summary: Gerry gets involved with Michael. Michael gets involved with Gerry. Chaos ensues.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael
Series: All My Life Has Been a Series of Doors in My Face (And then Suddenly I Bumped Into You) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042215
Comments: 35
Kudos: 261





	1. The Meet-Cute

Gerry is being stalked.

It isn’t difficult for him to figure this out; as it turns out, the Twisting Deceit isn’t nearly as subtle as say, the Lonely, which has been stalking him for years. But doors are starting to turn up everywhere Gerry goes--impossible doors, doors that shouldn’t be there. He sees them in underpasses along the highway, in underground stations, and even in the side of the train itself, when he actually uses the underground. He sees them in bathrooms, along stairwells, he even thought he saw one in the corner of his bedroom one night. And they are, to a one, the same shade of yellow.

Gerry has never liked the color yellow. And, more to the point, he doesn’t enjoy being messed with. He doesn’t know what avatar has decided he’ll make a fun target, although it isn’t difficult for him to guess which fear they work for. Once, late at night, he’d decided to make a point, and had picked up some dog shit in a paper bag and had lit it outside one of the doors as he passed it in an alley, giving a steady knock just to annoy whatever avatar he was dealing with. Echoing, delighted laughter had followed him for a week.

None of which explains the man sitting tucked away in a corner of the pub, curious eyes following Gerry wherever he goes. A full glass of something pink and bubbly sits in front of him, clearly untouched, and his shirt is the exact same shade of yellow as the doors Gerry has been seeing. When he sees Gerry looking at him, he grins, the corners of his mouth pulling up toward his ears. This, Gerry would guess, is the avatar who’s been following him. He bears a striking resemblance to one of Gertrude’s old assistants, which is...arguably somewhat troubling, but Gerry is rather drunk by the time he even spots the man, and isn’t necessarily in the mood to pursue anything resembling a puzzle. He makes his way over to the avatar’s table and sits himself down at it, glaring at the man.

“You’ve been following me.”

The man laughs, a high-pitched sound that rattles in Gerry’s skull. “Very astute observation, Gerard Keay.”

“Yes, it’s very scary that you know my name, I’m sure. Could you stop following me?”

The man hums. “No, I don’t think so.”

“So I’m just going to have to deal with your crappy idea of interior decorating until you get bored of me, is that it?”

“You don’t like my doors?” The avatar pouts. “I’ve worked so hard on them.” His finger traces a pattern on the table, carving into the thick wood. “I could change the color, perhaps.”

“If they led somewhere useful, that would be one thing. If I needed a bathroom and one of your doors took me back to my flat, it would be fine, but your thing seems to be more ‘passive kidnapping,’ and I have better things to do than get lost for your entertainment.”

“Do you?” The man tips his head, studying Gerry with dizzying eyes. “You know, I doubt I would have followed you in the first place if you weren’t already a little Lost. Maybe you just need a hand.” A grin splits his face again as he holds out a hand towards Gerry, fingers twisting on the edges of Gerry’s vision.

Gerry pulls back slightly. “I’m drunk, not an idiot. You can take your door and your hand and stick them up your--”

The man’s laugh cuts him off. “No need for that, Gerard. I know when I’m not wanted. But I'm sure there's _something_ you want." He sighs, and if Gerry wasn’t so drunk he’d think the Avatar sounded bitter. "What is it you want to Know, little Beholder?”

Gerry winces. “Don’t call me that. And what I want to know is what it is you want from me. If you really wanted me lost, we wouldn’t be talking. You would have had me turned around and I’d have gone through one of your doors weeks ago. So if that’s not what you’re after, what the hell do you want?”

“One can have many goals, ah…” The avatar hesitates. “What should I call you?”

The question takes Gerry somewhat off-guard. “I suppose...Gerry, if you have to call me something. It’s better than Gerard, anyway.”

“Gerry, then.” He smiles, a little less pointed this time. “I suspect the reason you’ll like most is that I have information on Jude Perry.”

“So, you’ve been stalking me to be...helpful? That seems unlikely.”

“Well…” The drawn out word seems to twist the air around them. “I wouldn’t say helpful. At least, not entirely helpful.”

Gerry laughs drily. “Am I supposed to be surprised by that? You’re the avatar of--essentially--misdirection. I’m not sure I’d follow a tip from you anyway. In fact I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t.”

“That’s a shame,” the man sighs. “It’s rather a good tip. Ah well.” He picks up his drink, swirls it a few times, and puts it down. “Regardless, I plan to keep following you.”

Gerry glares at him. “Are you waiting for me to ask you what the tip was? Because if so I’m not going to do it.”

“Of course you’re not,” the avatar says, grinning at Gerry. “I’m sure those Beholding tattoos are all just for show.”

“These?” Gerry holds up his hands, showing off the eyes tattooed on his fingers, and the avatar shudders slightly. “These are more for protection than anything else. Only took a few brushes with the Desolation to teach me that particular lesson.”

The avatar grimaces. “I certainly can’t say I’m a fan of the Desolation.” He leans a little closer to Gerry, inspecting a tattoo despite his obvious discomfort at being near it. “They really protect you against them?”

“I mean not completely, but yeah.” Gerry smirks at him, amused by his curiosity. “Sure you’re not a little Beholding yourself?”

The avatar tenses immediately, eyes narrowing. “I would _never_ ally myself with them.”

Gerry blinks at him, sensing dangerous territory, and lets a few tense moments pass before changing the subject. “So, uh. What do I call you?”

The man’s demeanor changes instantly, and he grins. “I suppose you can call me Michael.”

“You don’t seem like a Michael.”

“I’m not _a_ Michael,” Michael says. “I simply am. Michael is just the...closest thing to a name I have.”

Gerry shrugs, supposing that’s as close to an answer as he’s likely to get. “Alright, so you’re not just here to kidnap me, and you’re not planning to tell me what you know about Jude Perry. Why arrange a face-to-face? I’ll be honest, I’ve had scarier encounters with avatars--if this is about feeding your god or whatever, can’t say I’m the easiest target you could have picked.”

“No, you’re not.” Michael sounds amused. “I don’t think my god wants you. Not yet, anyway. I can’t promise the Spiral will never want you.” He hesitates. “I...suppose I wanted to meet you. You’re rather interesting, you know.” His fingers twitch closer to Gerry for a moment. “You’ve remained relatively independent, despite your many encounters with the entities. Eye tattoos notwithstanding.”

“Didn’t have the opportunity to be ignorant about this stuff. My mom was a bit of a hardass. And I’ll be honest, most avatars don’t have an especially good sales pitch.”

Michael giggles. “Most of us don’t need a _sales pitch_ at all.”

“Yeah, but some of the traps you guys set are just embarrassing. You know about the anglerfish? I mean what kind of half-assed shit is that?”

Michael’s laughter gets louder, ringing in Gerry’s ears. “You’d be surprised what some people will fall for, Gerry.”

“I know they work, I just...wish they didn’t.” Gerry’s surprised to hear himself admit so much to the Spiral. “Makes my job that much harder.”

Michael sobers, inspecting Gerry with his shifting gaze. “It’s not as if you have to stop them. I mean, is it even worth it, at the end of the day? Is humanity really worth so much?”

“I mean, I’m not a huge fan of people either, but I like to think so, yeah. Better than a couple fear deities squabbling over whose club is better.”

“To each their own, I suppose.” Michael sighs, twirling a finger through his hair. Gerry watches him for a moment, then wrenches his eyes away, recognizing something dizzying in the motion that he could get lost in. Michael glances up at him and flushes slightly. “I'm sorry, I wasn’t trying to...lead you astray.” He puts his hands back down on the table, clearly trying to keep them still. “I am curious to see what you’ll do all on your own.”

“Yeah, me too,” Gerry mutters, and puts his head down on the table so he doesn’t have to keep trying not to look at the avatar.

Michael hums quietly. “Would you like me to leave?”

Gerry shrugs his shoulders without lifting his head. “Are you gonna drink that?” He finally asks. “Or are you just gonna keep playing with it?”

Michael looks down at his drink, seemingly surprised to find it still there. “Ah...no, I guess I'm not. Would you...would you like it?” He laughs a little nervously. “I’m not much of a drinker, these days. I don’t really see the point.”

“I wouldn't say no to it. What, you can't get drunk?” Gerry finally looks up, although his head swims when he meets Michael’s eyes.

Michael pushes the drink towards him with a shrug. “Not really. When reality is already twisting around you, there’s not much left for alcohol to do.” He smiles widely at Gerry. “Which is fine; I never liked the taste of alcohol anyway. Fruity drinks were alright, but beer and the like…” Michael shudders. “No thank you.”

Gerry laughs and takes the drink. It occurs to him that drinking something that a Spiral avatar had even _held_ is probably a bad idea, but those seem to be the only kind of idea he has these days.

“Thanks.” He takes the drink and takes a large sip, wrinkling his nose a little bit at the sweetness of it. It's good, but it's the sort of drink he could drink way too fast. “Did you actually buy this? With money? Or did you just confuse the bartender into making you a drink?”

“Of course I paid for it.” Michael sounds indignant. “I’m not a thief.”

Gerry snorts into the drink, nearly spraying it. “I'm sorry, I just didn't assume you had a day job.”

“I don’t.” Michael grins. “But there are other avatars that do. And I don’t think taking from them really counts as stealing.”

Gerry actually chokes this time. “The Lukases!?” 

“They never notice; they're too busy avoiding each other.” Michael laughs. “They tend to assume it’s some other family member, but they’re never inclined to confront one another.”

Gerry shakes his head. “And then you can just leave, because of the doors. Shit, that's brilliant.”

Michael blushes, ducking his head. “It’s not that brilliant. But it is satisfying.”

“Hey, any 'fuck you' aimed at the Lukases is ok by me.”

Michael’s smile splits his face again, almost too bright to look at, and he leans closer to Gerry, eyes never leaving his face. He seems to catch himself after a moment, though, and sits back again, drawing his hands closer to his chest.

Gerry hesitates. _Right, he is an avatar_. He takes another sip of the drink, not entirely sure what to do to keep Michael...here, but also not...trying to consume him. He's surprised to find himself enjoying the conversation, but if Michael drags him off into the Spiral, it won't stay enjoyable for long.

“So…” He draws out the word, buying himself time to figure out what to say next. “How do you know the Lukases, anyway? Are there like, monthly avatar potlucks? Brunches?”

“Most people have heard of them. They’ve built quite the family name.” Michael laughs softly and sighs. “And despite their...desire for solitude, they do get around.” He grimaces. “I try to avoid the other avatars as much as possible, but...sometimes our paths cross.”

“That must be awkward.” Gerry gives a short laugh of his own. “Very awkward, if it involves Peter Lukas.”

“Oh, have you met him too?” Michael shakes his head. “For someone who wants to be alone, he does have a tendency to intrude at the worst moments.”

“Yeah, and he takes a thousand years to say the simplest shit. Like, if you get to the point, we can both leave and be happy to not be around each other.”

Michael’s boisterous laugh twists the paint on the wall next to them. “Oh, precisely. He’s so...pretentious. And petulant. It’s no wonder he and Elias never manage to stay together.”

“Why am I not surprised that's a thing. Or...isn't a thing?”

“I genuinely don’t know anymore.” Michael shrugs. “They do seem...suited to each other.”

“If you mean that they’re both insufferable, yeah.” Gerry takes another drink and surveys Michael—as best he can. The man’s face is difficult to focus on, and it gives him a headache to try. “I feel like I maybe...know you?” He says hesitantly.

“Do you?” Michael blinks at him. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.” There’s something twisting about his words, like there’s some double meaning Gerry can’t quite catch, and Gerry finds himself suddenly nauseous, clutching the edge of the table for balance.

“Can you stop that?” He asks, reeling.

“Oh. Sorry.” Michael at least looks apologetic as the pressure around Gerry dissipates. “I didn’t, ah...didn’t realize I was doing that.”

Gerry shakes his head, trying to get his bearings back. “It’s like having my brain sucked out through a crazy straw.” He complains, and takes another drink.

A giggle escapes Michael and he claps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, that's just--a very accurate comparison.”

Gerry smirks slightly at him. “Glad you approve.” He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes for a moment, but it doesn't relieve the lingering pain in his head.

Michael taps the table in front of him gently. “I think perhaps I should leave you for now.” Gerry is surprised to hear concern in his voice. “I don’t want to...hurt you.”

Gerry’s laugh is a little bit sharp. “That’s a first, from the avatars I’ve met.”

“Some of us try to fight our nature more than others.”

Gerry considers that for a moment. “I suppose...that makes sense.”

Michael watches Gerry quietly for a moment. “I’ll see you again, Gerry.” The by-now familiar yellow door appears next to their table, and Michael hesitates a second longer before vanishing through it.

Gerry stares after him. The avatar’s door is still ajar, and Gerry averts his eyes again to keep from seeing what’s inside. He should just leave, but...he can’t leave an open door to the Spiral in the middle of a pub. After a moment of hesitation, he throws back the rest of Michael’s fruity drink and gingerly hooks the base of the martini glass on the door’s handle to pull it shut.

He’s only a little shocked when nothing bad happens as it clicks closed.


	2. Danger has a Bracing Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerry makes a mistake

Gerry keeps seeing Michael around after that. He’ll spot the man vanishing through a crowd, or hear a snatch of unreal laughter as he walks home at night. He tries not to focus on it, even when Michael occasionally leaves gifts for him: a book of mazes, which Gerry refuses to open; a strangely complex Rubik’s cube; and, most recently, a vine of some sort, that finds something new to twist around every day, even though Gerry leaves it outside to freeze.

Michael doesn’t make any moves though, at least not in the direction of dragging Gerry off into the spiral. Which is more than can be said about some other fear avatars during the same period of time. Jude Perry takes a swipe at him one night as he’s leaving a pub, and although it takes less than twenty minutes for the pub to burn to the ground, Gerry manages to get out with just a burn to his hand. Hey, at least he knows if he’s pissed the Desolation off this much, he’s probably getting close to finding out something that matters.

In fact, he’s so focused on what the Desolation is up to that he isn’t at all prepared when he stumbles across a Leitner. The clues are all there, but he goes after it more automatically than intentionally. One inexplicable massacre, then another, and Gerry finds himself browsing all the used bookstores in a twenty mile radius.

He eventually spots the thing on display in a shop window: _The Art of War,_ by Sun Tzu, only this one looks like it has a bullet lodged in the front cover, and unless he’s mistaken, there’s blood on the left corner. Ironic, since, as far as Gerry knows, that book isn’t particularly violent in terms of content.

He barely gets a chance to look at it though; roughly two seconds after he finds it, it’s picked up by someone he recognizes. Mikael Silesa has no business buying Leitners, but there it is, tucked in the crook of his arm as he carries it up to the counter. The man looks up at him, and worry flashes over his face before he turns away from the window.

...Is Silesa _afraid_ of him? That’s new. Not that Gerry doesn’t put a certain amount of effort into looking intimidating, but Silesa deals with much scarier things than leather jackets and eyeliner. If the man’s worried about Gerry being there, there must be a reason for it.

He heads into the store, browsing books near the entrance until Silesa tries to blow past him. Then he grabs the man’s arm, following him out onto the street.

“Gerard.” Silesa’s voice isn’t friendly.

“Silesa.”

“I thought you weren’t working for Mary anymore.”

“I’m not. But I’m still gonna need that.”

Silesa practically snarls. “Tough, I got to it first.”

“Not soon enough, because I’m here now. Hand it over.” Gerry makes his face hard, and pushes Silesa into an alley off the main street. “I’ll pay you for it. You know I’m good for the money. I’ll meet you here tomorrow with a thousand in cash.” Silesa hesitates, and Gerry glares at him. “Don’t make this hard. Book now, money tomorrow.”

Finally Silesa gives a frustrated sigh, and hands the book over. It feels too heavy in Gerry’s hand, but he tucks it under his jacket quickly, before Silesa can rethink the decision. 

“Thanks.” He says blandly, and Silesa spits.

“Fuck you.” He leaves the alley at a stiff, fast trot, but Gerry only looks after him for a moment before turning his attention to the book. 

Sure enough, there’s Leitner’s nameplate. 

Gerry feels fury surge in him at the sight of the man’s name. His heart is racing, and his hands shake slightly as he puts the book down on the pavement. This is a nasty one, he can feel it just from the air around the book. He can feel it in the way he’d wanted to hurt Silesa to take it from him. And he can feel it in his anger towards Jurgen Leitner--it’s much stronger than usual. He takes the cheap plastic lighter out of his pocket and snaps the top off, pouring the lighter fluid onto the book before lighting it with his zippo. Then he sits back on his heels and watches as the book burns.

The cover takes a long time to burn, and Gerry begins to edge away as the book starts making ominous popping noises. 

He doesn’t move away fast enough, as it turns out.

The cover finally peels away, and as soon as the pages are exposed, there’s a deafening roar. Gerry’s thrown bodily backwards as the book seems to explode. His back hits the wall of the alley hard enough that he’s stunned for a long moment, only coming back to himself when he registers the blade swinging down towards his face.

He throws his arms up defensively, and shouts in pain as the knife scores deeply into his forearm. There’s nothing he can do but scuttle sideways along the wall, curled protectively around his arm, and try to dodge the shadow figure’s next attack.

It’s coming from the book, he can see that now. It’s still burning, but until it finishes…he just has to hope that when it finishes burning, the shadow figure will disappear.

He makes it to his feet, although there’s a searing pain in his back as the shadow figure cuts him again, and takes off for the end of the alley at a run.

Something catches his leg as he gets close to the street, and he goes sprawling, skinning his palms and rolling over into his back to try to fend off the shadow figure, who’s bearing down on him—the only thing Gerry can see of the figure’s face are its teeth, bared in a rictus grin as it closes in on him, knife swinging. It catches his shoulder and he yells in pain again, but then the figure vanishes like smoke into the air of the alley.

Gerry stays on his back for a long moment, clutching his shoulder, before realizing the degree to which his arm is bleeding. He has to take care of that, or he’s going to pass out.

He stumbles upright and makes his way to the end of the alley, glad not for the first time that black leather jackets hide blood so well. At least it isn’t far to the nearest dive bar, and soon Gerry finds himself cursing as he runs water over the long, deep slash on his forearm. The water flowing down the drain is a remarkable shade of red, and he really hopes that whoever has to clean the bathroom after this gets paid decently for it at least. He’s managed to avoid _completely_ trashing the place, but the cut on his arm isn’t the only place he’s bleeding from, and he’s sure he’s smeared blood in an uncomfortable number of places, even for a dingy public bathroom.

He reaches for his pocket, pulling out a small tube of superglue, and swears again as he fumbles it, dropping it into the sink under the running water.

“Shit. Why do I even--” 

“It looks like you could use a hand,” a swirling voice says from behind him, and Gerry jumps, splashing bloody water onto the floor.

“Dammit.” He presses his free hand over the injury and turns slightly to see Michael watching him closely. The man’s eyes widen when they fall on Gerry’s arm.

 _“Oh,”_ Michael gasps. “What happened?”

Gerry’s as startled by the avatar’s reaction as he was by Michael showing up behind him in a public bathroom.

“A...Leitner.” He says after a moment. “A definitely non-standard copy of Sun Tzu’s _The Art of War_.” He smirks slightly. “Turns out when you try to burn Slaughter Leitners they tend to fight back. Probably should have seen that coming.”

Michael grimaces, and glances back at his door. “Wait here,” he tells Gerry before disappearing.

Gerry stares after him until he realizes he’s dripping blood on the floor, then redirects his arm into the sink under the water, peering critically at the injury. He’s so lost in examining it that he’s startled all over again when Michael reappears behind him, arms full of gauze and other first aid supplies.

“It looked like you might need a lot…” Michael offers him a roll of bandages somewhat sheepishly.

“...thanks.” Gerry takes the bandages clumsily. His hands are too wet and bloody to effectively wrap his arm, so he wads them up and presses them to the injury, wincing slightly at the pressure. “For the record, I’ve _never_ liked the Slaughter.”

Michael shivers. “Neither have I. Although they’re preferable to the _Flesh_.” Michael shifts from foot to foot. “So what brought you to a Slaughter Leitner?”

“Massacre in a restaurant. I thought it was a Grifter’s Bone thing, but then there was another one in a hotel like a week later, and that was way too fast, so…” Gerry shrugs, and regrets it. “I practically had to beat Mikael Silasa off with a stick to get it, someone must have paid him a lot, he doesn’t usually do Leitners.’

“Hm.” Michael frowns. “That’s...rather concerning.” He peers at Gerry’s arm. “I think that stopped bleeding enough to wrap it--if you want I can…” He gestures with a roll of gauze, and Gerry blinks at him.

“You’re not going to wrap it in a fractal, are you?” Gerry winces as the words come out of his mouth. “That came out wrong, I was joking.”

Michael laughs softly. “No, that’s a fair question.” He studies the gauze in his hands. “I’ll make an effort not to, but no promises.” A grin splits his face when he sees the slight worry on Gerry’s face. “I was also joking, Gerry.” He steps closer, waiting for Gerry’s nod before starting to wrap the strips of bandage around the wound, binding it tightly before tying it off. “Is this your only wound?”

Gerry hesitates. “It’s the worst.”

Michael taps his fingers on his leg. “Well, I did bring a _lot_ of bandages. You may as well use them.”

Gerry sighs. Baring his injuries to Michael doesn’t sound...smart, but the avatar’s already proven himself much more useful than Gerry has been giving him credit for. 

“Yeah, I guess.” He says finally, and shrugs painfully out of his shirt without giving Michael a chance to answer.

Michael exhales sharply. “That’s all from the book?” 

“Think so, yeah. Everything new, anyway.”

Soft pinpricks brush his back, and Gerry winces slightly, but it doesn’t actually hurt. The pressure disappears instantly.

“Sorry,” Michael mumbles. He sticks out a long arm and gets some gauze wet in the still-running tap, before dabbing gently at a cut on Gerry’s shoulder blade. Gerry lets his head droop and lets Michael work, only realizing belatedly his hair’s probably in the way.

“Sorry--” He reaches back and pulls it to the side. Michael flinches back slightly, and Gerry’s confused for a moment until he remembers Michael’s hesitation around his tattoos. “Shit.” He claps a hand over the one on the back of his neck, although he realizes after a second that the small tattoos on his hands probably aren’t much better. “Dammit. Sorry, Michael.”

“It’s alright.” Michael’s voice sounds a little strained, but he starts cleaning Gerry’s wound again. “Does this happen to you often? Running afoul of Leitners?”

Gerry laughs slightly, still trying to find a way to arrange his hair so that it covers his tattoo but isn’t completely in Michael’s way. “Hazard of the family business, unfortunately.”

Michael sighs; the mirror fractures with the sound. “You know, you could start a new family business.”

“I tried. Couldn’t do it.” Hair finally in an acceptable place, Gerry’s hands fall to fidget with the ends of his bandage. “Couldn’t pretend I didn’t know what was happening.”

Michael finishes bandaging his wound and moves to another, staying quiet for a long moment. “We don’t make ourselves easy to ignore.” It’s hard to tell with the way his voice twists, but Gerry thinks the avatar sounds...sad.

Gerry shrugs, and wishes he hadn’t. “At least with you and the other avatars, I mean, you _need_ to, I get that. It’s the _people_ who piss me off. Like my mom, and Leitner, they’re so obsessed with power they don’t care about collateral damage, and they’re not--no one’s making them do it, they’re just assholes.”

Michael’s bitter laugh rings in his ears. “There are plenty of avatars like that. Jude, for one.”

“Yeah, but it’s part of what she _has_ to do, too. Leitner...Leitner doesn’t serve anyone but himself. And I don’t know if it makes it better that the avatars _have_ an excuse, but I think it makes it worse that there are people out there _without_ an excuse who are just as bad.”

Michael presses another bandage in place, moving until his fingers brush gently against one of Gerry’s bruises. “It seems like most of your scars are from others like me.”

“Well a lot of avatars _come_ from Leitners. You’ve met Mike Crew, right? Short guy, weird scars? He got his powers from a Leitner.”

“Oh yes, I’m familiar with him.” Michael lets out a giggle. “He was marked by the Spiral long before he joined the Vast.” Michael sighs. “I suppose in some ways the Vast suits him better anyway.”

“Well I’m glad he’s not working for you, he’s a dickhead. Messed around with the Bone Turner’s Tale for a while, too.”

Michael shudders. “Remind me to avoid him, then. I...didn’t know that.”

“You really don’t like the Flesh, do you? That’s the second time you’ve mentioned that.”

“I...no.” The avatar laughs a little. “The Flesh is...gross?”

Gerry nods. “I hate when they get mixed up with the corruption. Just one is enough.’

“Eugh.” Michael shivers. “I hate the corruption almost as much as the flesh. Together, they’re...disgusting.”

Gerry considers this for a moment. He knows of some times that the Spiral has collaborated with the Flesh, and he suspects Michael...wouldn’t. Which either means Michael’s a very new avatar, which...feels right, or he’s not the only avatar of the Spiral in London, or...he’s lying. Which could also be true. Either way, Michael’s disgust with the Flesh is clearly specific to _him_ , and not shared by his patron. Which means he’s talking with _Michael_ here, not the Spiral wearing a Michael-shaped mask. Which would also account for Michael...helping him. 

It doesn’t entirely account for how at-ease Gerry feels with Michael’s razor fingers carefully bandaging his back.

“As long as it’s not the web.” Gerry says after a moment, realizing there’s been a brief lapse in the conversation as Michael waited for him to respond. “I... _really_ don’t like the web.”

Michael hums agreement. “I try not to tangle with them. They always seem to have...plans.” He twists upward to face Gerry. “Have you run into them, too?”

“Well that’s the thing about the web, it’s hard to be sure. I’ve run across a few of their Leitners, but sometimes it feels like my whole life is one big web encounter.”

Michael watches him for a long moment, expression indecipherable. A small smile cracks his face. “It’s not. I would know.” He brushes Gerry’s hair off his face, cutting a few strands with his fingers. His fingers rest on Gerry’s cheek for the slightest moment, before he flinches back, moving away. His cheeks go pink and he looks at the floor. “Was that all of your injuries, then?”

Gerry blinks at him for a moment. It was, but he finds he doesn’t want Michael to leave. “I think so.” He finally says, and gives Michael a small, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“You--you’re welcome.” Michael laughs nervously, his hair bouncing around him as he takes a small step back. “I--I should leave you to your work, then.” His door fills one of the mirrors in the blink of an eye.

“I think my work for tonight is mostly gonna be going the hell to sleep.” Gerry tells him, but he keeps watching Michael, still a little confused. “Are you ok?”

“I, um--” Michael cards his fingers through his hair; it curls snakelike around his hand. “I’m fine, just--” His eyes flash to Gerry’s face, and he lets out a panicked-sounding giggle. “I have to go now.” Before Gerry can stop him, Michael disappears through his door. 

Gerry stares after him for a second before shaking his head. “...What the hell?”


	3. Burned-Out

Gerry settles on a phone, as his first gift to Michael. The man can always reach him when he wants, but Gerry keeps finding himself inexplicably wanting to talk to the avatar, with no yellow door in sight. It’s a burner phone; he’s sure Michael doesn’t want anything more easily tracked than that. 

It comes in a two-pack, so Gerry pops one out, and after some hesitation in the sprinkling rain outside one of Michael’s doors in an alley, he writes a quick note with his phone number and tucks it all in a plastic bag, knocking and leaving it on the stoop. He likes Michael--he actually _trusts_ him, to a frightening degree, but there are just some things that feel like asking to die, and knocking on the Spiral’s door and then waiting for an answer feels very much like one of those things.

Michael never does call, but Gerry gets an emoji texted to his phone from an unknown number that’s just a picture of a spiral which seems to swim in front of his eyes, so he feels safe in assuming that’s Michael’s number. He adds it to his contacts under the name _Fuckhands McMike_.

And then he continues looking into the Desolation. 

It’s going poorly, at this point. The Desolation seems to have more or less closed ranks-- none of them are venturing out, or saying anything when they do. So Gerry thinks he’s hit a stroke of luck when he finds out about a ritual going on in a warehouse downtown. It’s just a ritual, not a Ritual, but still--it’s got to do with the Desolation, it’s something. 

Or so he thinks until he gets there, and nearly gets blown up by a lunatic with a Desolation Leitner. He only remembers flashes of what happened, even less of his time in the hospital, but he knows enough to know that the Desolation set him up. He doesn’t even know if the man he killed worked for them, or if he just had the bad luck to be set up as well. 

The first thing Gerry does on getting back to his apartment is to start laundry-- he can’t get the smell of smoke out of his nose, and if he starts drinking before his clothes and sheets are dry, and can’t bring himself to finish the wash cycle, well…

Honestly he has bigger concerns.

All of which is to say, he isn’t quite sure how he ends up laying on the bare mattress in his apartment, staring at the second phone that came in the pack he bought for Michael. Of course, he could call the man on his own phone, but for some reason he feels like he should use this one.

Actually, he shouldn’t call the avatar at all, but the bottle of whisky sitting on the floor next to him is making a compelling argument, and he finds himself pressing ‘send’ without really meaning to. It rings longer than seems normal, and Gerry is almost ready to hang up when the call connects.

“Gerry?” Michael’s voice crackles through the phone. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Gerry’s voice slurs, and he clears his throat. “How’re you?”

“I’m ok--are you sure you’re alright? You don’t sound it.”

“M’fine. Just drunk again.” Gerry sighs. “Hit another dead end with the desolation.”

“Maybe you should take a break from chasing them down, then.” Michael sounds concerned through the distorted call. 

“No, I mean a _dead_ end. The longer I take at figuring out what they’re up to, the more dead bodies I find.” Gerry swallows hard, closing his eyes and trying not to see burned bodies behind his eyelids. “And I still have no idea how to stop them.”

There’s silence for a moment. “So don't,” Michael finally says, so quiet Gerry almost doesn’t hear him. “Let them burn themselves out. They will, eventually.”

Gerry can hear the hollowness in his own laugh. “As a group, maybe. I had...I had to—one of them was in a hospital. And it almost went really bad. You ever seen IV fluid boil?"

Michael’s sharp intake of breath makes the phone jump in Gerry’s hand--or maybe that’s just the alcohol.

Gerry swallows. “Yeah it was...bad.” He takes a shaky breath. “Michael, I had to kill the guy. He was gonna kill everyone there.”

“Gerry…”

“I haven’t _done_ that before. I didn’t want to, he’d gotten ahold of a Leitner, I was trying to save his stupid ass, but there wasn’t anything else I could do.”

Michael’s silence stretches through the line. “How are you going to stop the Desolation?” He finally asks. 

“I…” Gerry hesitates, and takes another drink of whisky to excuse the burning in his throat. “I'll figure something out.”

Michael sighs softly. “They’re not a subtle fear. There won’t be a subtle solution.”

“Maybe I can rent a fire truck.” Gerry mumbles. “Just douse their asses.”

Michael laughs and the phone screeches with feedback. “Perhaps, for a little while. But I suspect that will just make them angry.” Michael hesitates. “There might be...other solutions. But I don’t know if you’ll like them any better.”

“I don’t have to like it, that’s the thing.” Gerry turns so he can bury his face partly in the pillow. “But someone’s got to do it.”

“I suppose.” Gerry can almost picture Michael’s too-wide frown. “I guess I just don’t think it’s worth so much personal sacrifice.”

Now it’s Gerry’s turn to laugh. “Michael, that’s all I do. I’m—I spent my whole life working for things that didn’t matter—only, they do, because I can’t stop. I don’t _get_ to do things, or have things—this is all I do. There’s not all that much left to sacrifice.”

“You’d be surprised.” Michael’s voice is so quiet Gerry isn’t sure he’s heard him right, especially when the avatar continues as if he hadn’t spoken. “You could get someone else to do these things for you. Surely you don’t have to work alone.”

“I’m not gonna drag anyone else into this like I got dragged into it.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re very stubborn?” Frustration laces Michael’s voice.

“Not really. I’m not trying to make a—a _thing_ of it, it’s just—what am I gonna do, screw someone else over because I don’t want to get hurt?”

“It’s what most people would do.” Gerry feels Michael’s sigh reverberate in his bones. “If you’re going to insist on tackling the Desolation all on your own, you should at least get some proper rest.”

Gerry curls on his side on the mattress, sensing a dismissal. It _is_ late. He doesn’t know why he called Michael in the first place—he _certainly_ can’t account for how little he wants to hang up now. But he can understand why Michael doesn’t want to keep listening to him—even with the alcohol in his system, Gerry can recognize that Michael’s right, he _is_ being an idiot about this. He just doesn’t see any other option.

“Hey, Michael?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

Silence stretches between them, and Gerry suspects Michael might have hung up on him, not that he can blame him.

“For what?” Michael finally asks.

Gerry flounders. _For giving a shit_ , is what he wants to say, but it’s more than that and on some level he knows it. “For...picking up. And listening. And calling me on my bullshit. Just...everything.”

“You...ah, you’re welcome.” Michael’s voice shifts, hesitant and soft. “Get some sleep, Gerry. I think you'll feel better for it.” Another moment’s silence passes. “I can...I can stay on the phone, if--if you’d like.”

Gerry turns his face fully into the pillow. “I don’t understand why you’re so nice to me.” He mumbles, and hopes Michael didn’t hear. “Ok.”

Michael hums; it vibrates uncomfortably in Gerry’s ear. “I have a question.”

“Yeah?” Gerry closes his eyes.

“What _is_ your favorite color?”

The image of a door with peeling paint swims behind Gerry’s eyelids, replacing the image of the burned bodies, and he smiles slightly. “...I like yellow.” 

He thinks he hears a very soft _oh_ from Michael, but if the avatar answers more fully than that, Gerry isn’t awake long enough to hear it.

When he wakes up the next morning, it’s to sunlight streaming across his face. He opens his eyes and immediately regrets it as pain lances through his skull.

“Fuck…” He mumbles, and rolls over, realizing his face had been resting on the burner phone he’d called Michael on last night.

Shit, he’d actually done that, hadn’t he?

He groans, pulling his blanket over his head. It takes him a second to remember that he’d left this blanket on the couch, and when he pulls it back to look at it, there are yellow swirls through the familiar tartan pattern.

For a moment he just looks at the blanket, and when his mind refuses to process that, he starts looking around to see what else is different.

He has to look around a few times before he even notices the full glass next to the mattress. He doesn’t remember using a glass at all last night, and when he leans closer it’s clear it’s just water. Next to it is a bottle of ibuprofen, and pinned underneath the glass is a curling slip of yellow paper, covered in sprawling script. 

Gerry leans over to look at it, although the motion makes his head throb.

“I hope this helps” is written across the top, followed by an address Gerry doesn’t recognize. What he assumes are flames dance around the words, but they have far too many spirals for them to really look like fire. 

He blinks at the paper for a long second before going for the ibuprofen and water. As soon as he picks up the water glass, the yellow paper snaps into a tightly-curled scroll, and Gerry sighs, smoothing it out with his free hand as he drinks.

Michael had been here last night while he was asleep, and Gerry can’t bring himself to find that alarming.

He should, he knows that, he just...doesn’t. Except for feeling somewhat mortified that the avatar saw him passed out on a bare mattress with a half-empty bottle of whisky next to him, in the middle of a wash cycle, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers.

At least he’d showered. He could smell smoke in his hair when he got back from the hospital just like he could smell it in his clothes.

Of course, now Michael also knows how badly he got burned…

Gerry lets his face fall into his hands and tries hard not to think. His head still aches, a deep throbbing across his skull, and his stomach is threatening to give up on him and his choices altogether. He barely remembers what he’d said to Michael last night. He could have said anything, given how much whisky he’d had. And Michael had...come over and tucked him in.

Michael doesn’t make sense.

On some level—yeah, that’s the point, Michael’s the avatar of the Spiral. But it’s not that the man is confusing in a threatening way—it’s exactly the opposite, and _that’s_ what’s got Gerry so confused. Certainly with a hangover he can’t work out why he feels so safe around Michael, let alone why he wishes Michael had _stayed—_

Gerry shuts that thought down. Or he tries to. It keeps branching and growing, something Michael would no doubt be proud of. But Gerry still doesn’t understand. Michael can turn his stomach with a thought. So why, with hangover nausea already crashing over him in waves, is Michael the one person Gerry really wants to see? Why, in the middle of fighting the avatars of one fear, does Gerry want to know what it would be like to hug the avatar of another, or even _kiss_ him--?

“Stop it, Keay.” Gerry rubs his eyes, as though he can rub the thought out of his mind, and forces himself to his feet, looking around to see what else happened while he was out.

The first thing he notices is that the sun is streaming through the wrong window. It isn’t morning sunlight, it’s mid-afternoon at best. Not that that’s Michael’s fault.

Also there’s an aloe plant on his windowsill, which definitely wasn’t there before. It doesn’t look nearly as...dangerous as Michael’s vine gift, but it is definitely growing in a spiral, and Gerry resolves to at least keep an eye on it.

The whisky bottle is conspicuously missing, which Gerry supposes is fair. And at some point Michael must have finished the wash cycle Gerry had started, because there’s a hamper full of dry, clean-looking clothes, and all of Gerry’s whites (not that he _has_ many of those) are now a cheerful shade of yellow. Gerry goes to investigate and discovers that the weave in the fabric of all his clothes has changed as well--up close they look like a series of celtic knots, winding into each other and repeating and repeating into--what must be fractals--

Gerry makes it to the bathroom in time to be sick, but only barely. He’s reasonably sure it wasn’t Michael’s intent to make his hangover worse, but he wouldn’t blame the avatar for it, either. He’d sort of earned it. Gerry needs to thank him, and investigate the address he’d left, and…

He’s not going anywhere right now. He lets his forehead rest on his arm, and resolves to look into all of that...later.


	4. In Too Deep

Gerry can’t help but be relieved when he sees the yellow door at the end of the hallway. He’s been wandering for--fuck, he has no idea how long. The address Michael had given him had proven to be _exactly_ the kind of tip he’d been worried about receiving from the Spiral in the first place. There had been an empty house, and Gerry had found himself drawn to the front door. That alone should have been warning enough, but Gerry had been too tired to pull away. What he found inside was a maze. It was burning, and he swore he could hear snatches of laughter in the crackling of the flames. 

At least it wasn’t as hot in here as it _should_ have been, with all the walls on fire. Even so, Gerry found himself slowing down as he wandered the hallways. He was too tired. He would have been too tired to deal with whatever he found even if it _hadn’t_ been a trap.

As it is, for all that he judges some of the people who get ensnared by the powers, he’d been as stupid as any of them, coming here. He’d decided to trust the Twisting Deceit, because it had put on a pretty face for him. And as anyone with two brain cells to rub together might have guessed, it had lied to him. He’d let himself get attached to a mask, and then had the nerve to be upset when the monster underneath was still there.

So when he comes to the yellow door, and it won’t open, he all but breaks it down banging on it.

“Michael, you _asshole_ , open the hell up.” The smoke from the walls must have gotten into Gerry’s lungs, because his voice is hoarse. Or maybe he’s just been in here longer than he thought. He gives the door a vicious kick for good measure, and tries to ignore the way his heart sinks when nothing happens for several long moments.

“Gerry?” Michael’s voice creeps out through the suddenly-open door. “How nice of you to come. I wasn’t sure you would.”

“Asshole.” Gerry repeats. He wants to yell at the avatar for tricking him, but what would be the point? Michael would just laugh at him, and Gerry is already feeling stupid enough as it is. “Was this your endgame? What, is it a point of pride that you waited until I’d go through one of your doors willingly? Or were you just toying with me?” He can hear the hurt in his own voice, and winces internally at it. Whatever. It’ll probably make Michael’s month.

“What?” The eyes that blink at Gerry are all innocence, but Gerry just glares back at him. “I’ve never toyed with you, Gerry.”

“No? What would you call it, then?”

“I was trying to help you,” Michael says petulantly. “It’s not my fault if you didn’t _understand_.”

“Help me _what_ , exactly? Become like you? Get eaten by the Spiral? I thought it was in your _nature_ to be unknowable, but I guess being predictable is a whole other thing.”

“No!” Michael’s shout nearly deafens him, and Gerry flinches. “No,” he says, voice going almost too soft to hear. “That’s not what I want.” He winces, as if it pains him to say it. 

Gerry swallows. “Then why am I here? You trapped me in here.” There’s that hurt, accusatory tone in his voice again, and Gerry suddenly finds he can’t look Michael in the face. He looks down instead, blinking hard.

“Yes, but it wasn’t a trap for you. It was a gift.” Michael reaches behind him, opening a door that wasn’t there just a moment ago. He shoves it open wide, revealing a disheveled woman with hands that drip wax onto the floor. Flames dance around her, and fury glints in her eyes when she sees Michael. 

_“You--!”_ She starts towards the doorway, but Michael slams it on her before she can escape.

“I thought you could question her,” Michael sniffs, “But if you don’t want to, she doesn’t have to come back.”

Gerry looks up at him, searching his face. He feels like a cat chasing a string. Of course he has to say yes, it’s the only lead he’s gotten in weeks. But it’s a deal with a devil, isn’t it? The more he comes into Michael’s circle, the more ensnared he gets. And surely Michael knows it.

Gerry closes his eyes for a second. “I can…” He starts, then stops again and hesitates. “I’ll ask her.” He finally says quietly.

Michael nods, and he opens the door again. The woman looks significantly worse than she did just moments ago, the skin around her face sagging and her clothes dirty and singed.

“What do you want?” She growls.

“We have some questions for you,” Michael says lightly. 

The woman glares at him. “You? Questions? That’s not usually your thing, Distortion. Are you sure you’re not actually with the Eye?”

Michael’s mouth twists with fury, but he doesn’t bother responding, instead stepping aside so Gerry can get to the doorway. 

Gerry sighs and steps forward, waving a hand covered in eye tattoos. “Hi. What the hell is your book club up to these days?”

The woman grimaces. “Why does the Eye care what we’re up to? They already ruined everything once.” 

Gerry shrugs and decides to let her assumption ride. “Being nosy is kind of the gig. You realize information is sort of what the Eye feeds on, right? Now spit it out.”

Her gaze darts to Gerry’s tattoos and she visibly flinches. “No. No, I won’t--”

“I would do as he asks.” Michael says, sounding bored. “Before he really _asks._ It’s not a...pleasant sensation.”

Gerry just stares levelly at her. He knows what Michael’s talking about, he’d been on the receiving end of it last time he talked to Gertrude Robinson, and he’s inclined to agree with Michael’s assessment. But if the lady calls his bluff, he has no idea what he’ll do.

“Do you know what she’ll do to me if I talk?” The woman takes a step back. “If the choice is Jude or you, it's no choice at all.”

Gerry smirks. “That’s because you don’t know me. Besides, I wouldn’t worry about that, I doubt Michael’s planning to let you go.” He takes a deep breath, his frustration and fear about the Desolation’s plans all bubbling to the surface at once. “I’m only going to ask one more time. _What is the Desolation up to?_ ” He feels a tug as the words leave his mouth, like his throat and eyes are being pulled forward by an invisible magnet, and something about it makes him feel sick. He gropes blindly for the wall and catches the edge of the doorframe instead, gripping it tight and reeling.

“We--we’re trying to--” a pained noise escapes the woman. “Jude thinks we can do our ritual again. Soon.”

“I’m gonna need a little more than that.” Gerry growls, the words pulling themselves from his mouth, and barely sounding like him. 

“She--wants to--” the woman claws at her throat, but it isn’t enough to stop her from answering. “She thinks sacrificing an Avatar of another power will work. She has a--a plan, for it to glorify the Desolation. I don’t--I don’t know which Avatar, but--probably Beholding, since you fucked over Agnes.” The woman’s chest is heaving when she finishes, and her eyes burn at Gerry. _“Fuck you._ I’ll _kill_ you--”

The door slams shut on her, almost hitting Gerry. He stares at the wood, feeling like a puppet whose strings have been cut. His legs want to fold, and he takes a sharp, shuddering breath as though surfacing for air after a long time. Something sharp and hand-like grips Gerry’s shoulder.

“Are you ok?” Michael asks softly.

“I…” Gerry’s breath comes out as a croak. “Fuck.” His legs do give out then, but Michael catches him, easing him to the floor with arms like wire.

“Just breathe for a moment. I’ll sort the rest out.” Michael hesitates. “You might want to keep your eyes shut.”

Gerry tries to shut his eyes, and his heart hammers as he finds himself looking anyway.

The room around them bends and swirls nauseatingly, but when it stops, their surroundings seem more stable. There’s a long moment where Michael just stares at the wall, eyes unfocused, and then he turns to Gerry and shifts into the space next to him.

“If we need more information, we can get it, but she’s...secure.” He watches Gerry carefully, expression shifting with each passing second. “Have you--have you done that before?” 

Gerry shakes his head. “No. I haven’t.” He wishes his voice would stop being so unsteady. But if he compelled that woman to answer... “Fuck. I’m not doing this. Michael, I need your help with something.”

“With what?” Michael sounds nervous.

“You—I don’t want to answer to the Eye. My dad, he used to work for the Magnus Institute, he figured out how to break free of the Beholding—I didn’t realize it was getting that bad, but you—your hands, you can help. I need you to—to blind me?”

Michael flinches backwards. _“What?”_ His hands disappear behind his back. “I--I can’t--surely there’s another way?”

Gerry shakes his head jerkily. “Not that I know of. Fuck—I knew I was messing with fire, using the Eye to figure out what the Desolation was doing, but I just—I got so focused on it I didn’t realize…” He takes a shuddering breath. “I’m tired of working for things that want something I don’t. I don’t want to do that again.”

Michael is silent for a long moment, emotions Gerry doesn’t recognize flitting across his face. “You should at least think about it before you decide. Please?”

“What’s there to think about? It’s not going to get better—it doesn’t work like that, you—that’s going to keep happening.” Gerry’s voice cracks.

“And what if something else decides you’re an easy target afterwards?” The air shivers with Michael’s worry. “What if another entity takes you? What then?”

“I…” Gerry leans back against the wall, suddenly realizing he’s shaking. “I don’t know.”

Michael paces and wrings his hands, long fingers twisting in a nauseating pattern. “I--I can't be sure that _I_ wouldn’t take you. And I don’t--” his face twitches in pain. “ _I_ don't want that.” 

Gerry looks down at his hands, and flinches when they look back. “Fuck.”

Michael stops his pacing; the walls of the room seems to shrink in on them as he looks from Gerry’s face to his now-blinking tattoos. The avatar is next to him instantly, crouching in front of him. His mouth curls in a frown as he reaches one hand forward and brushes a finger over the tattoo. A hiss escapes him, but he doesn’t stop until he’s carved a line through the center of the eye.

Gerry bites back a pained grunt, but he meets Michael’s eyes. “Can...can you do that to the rest of them?”

“Not here.” Michael frowns. “It won’t be safe. Can you get back to your apartment?”

“I...yeah.” Gerry forces himself to his feet unsteadily. Michael studies him a moment.

“I could take you there,” he offers, though he doesn’t summon a door.

“I can make it.” Gerry says, maybe too stubbornly.

Michael laughs, stopping with a little sigh. “That seems unlikely. Besides, I meant in a vehicle. I won't make you suffer through more corridors.” 

“What about the Desolation woman?”

“She’ll keep,” Michael says dismissively. “I can deal with her later.”

Gerry hesitates, then nods. “Should I...meet you back at my apartment, then?”

Michael flashes him a crooked smile. “Unless you’d rather explain my existence to a cabbie.”

“Yeah, I’m not up for that today. I’ll see you back there. Um…” Gerry looks around uncertainly for a door. 

Michael blinks at him for a moment before seeming to realize what he needs. “Oh--right.” He hums thoughtfully, looking the wall over before grabbing Gerry’s arm with a grin. “This way.” Michael tugs Gerry forward, and Gerry hesitates before he realizes that there’s actually a door hidden behind the wall. This one is just a plain wooden door, about what he’d expect for the house. He glances up at Michael.

“Right, I’ll...see you soon.” Michael grins as Gerry opens the door, stumbling through it into the entrance hall of the house, where all this started. The front door is ajar, and outside he can hear the familiar sounds of people and traffic. After everything inside, the normality of it is almost jarring, and Gerry looks back only to see the door he’d just come through now leads into a dirty unused living room. He swallows hard and heads out to the street.

Getting home is...difficult, as much because Gerry keeps getting turned around as because he’s finding it hard to stay upright. By the time he gets back to his apartment, it takes all his focus to get the key into the lock and make it through the door without toppling. He’s only a little surprised to see that Michael’s beaten him there.

“I was starting to worry you’d gotten lost.” Michael murmurs from the couch. He stands and stretches, limbs crackling and too long, before he settles back into a more human form. 

“Takes a little longer if you’re not travelling by weird portal.” Gerry mutters, and collapses into a chair by the door.

“There’s no reason you _have_ to travel by mundane, human means.” Michael twists his fingers together.

“Wasn’t sure how long I’d be stuck if I went your way.” Gerry knows he sounds sullen, and tugs off his jacket. “Can you help me with these? At least the ones on my back?” He doesn’t specify what he’s talking about. He assumes the fact that his eye tattoos are tracking Michael’s every move is explanation enough.

“You wouldn’t be stuck,” Michael says softly as he approaches Gerry, flinching as he gets close. “Do--do you want me to just…” The avatar trails off.

“Unless you have a better idea. I can--I’ll do all the ones I can reach, I just...don’t want to leave anything up to chance.”

“Ok.” Michael still hesitates. “Hold still, I suppose.” He reaches for Gerry’s hand, his touch surprisingly gentle. “...Should I get bandages first?”

Gerry gives a small, startled laugh. “Maybe? I feel like I’m making a habit of this.”

“Is that a yes?” Michael doesn’t wait for an answer before opening a door and reaching through, drawing his hand back out overfull with bandages. “Ok.” The avatar flashes him a nervous smile and breathes out slowly before slicing through the tattoos on Gerry’s knuckles.

Gerry flinches and sucks in a breath, but he stays still. Michael’s doing him a favor. There’s no need to make it any harder than it has to be. Michael still apologizes, though, even as he takes care of the rest on Gerry’s hand and the one on his wrist. 

“Let me wrap it?”

Gerry nods. “Thanks.” His voice cracks a little. He’s playing it off as best he can, but the cuts _hurt_. Not quite like normal cuts, either--it’s as though every tattoo is a real eye. But he doesn’t know what Michael would do if he said so. 

Michael deftly bandages his hand, holding it a moment longer than necessary before taking his other one. He glances up at Gerry. “I--suppose I should do the ones you can’t reach first.” He doesn’t release Gerry’s hand, though, and Gerry feels a pang, realizing that being so close to the tattoos must hurt Michael, too.

“It’s...do whichever ones you want.” He says quietly. Michael nods.

“...Right.” He drops Gerry’s hand, moving behind him, and Gerry shivers slightly. “Sorry,” Michael says again. “You’re going to have to take your shirt off, if you want me to get the ones on your back.”

Gerry tugs off his shirt, wincing slightly as he pulls at some of the burns leftover from his last brush with the desolation. His instincts are screaming at him to leave the tattoos in place, at least until he finishes dealing with the desolation, but he silences that thought with prejudice. He’s not willing to become someone else’s tool, not after having been his mother’s for so long.

Michael traces the swirling outline of the burn. It doesn't hurt, exactly, but it’s not comfortable, and Gerry lets out a slow breath, not entirely steadily.

“Does it hurt you?” He asks softly. “To have them looking at you?”

“Y--Yes.” Michael flinches away almost imperceptibly. Before Gerry can react, Michael drags his fingers across each knob of Gerry’s spine at once, scoring through all the tattoos on his back as Gerry gasps in surprise and pain. “And now it doesn’t.” He’s quick to bandage the gashes, staying behind Gerry longer than seems necessary, and Gerry struggles to catch his breath.

“Michael?” He asks hesitantly, not really sure what he’s asking.

“Yes?” Michael finally comes around to face him, without ever meeting Gerry’s eyes.

“I…” Gerry falters. He doesn’t know how to not make it a question. “I just did it to you. The...asking thing.”

Michael nods slightly, reaching for Gerry’s elbow. “It was an accident.” 

Gerry grits his teeth as Michael cuts the tattoo on his elbow. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Michael assures him. 

“Is--? It’s not, though.” Gerry catches his breath as Michael makes another cut. “What if this doesn’t work?” He winces as the question leaves his mouth, but it doesn’t have the pull of the last one.

“It already is.” Michael bandages his elbow. “It feels...less. Their gaze doesn't weigh so heavily.”

“And when I look at you?” This time Gerry’s words come out with a hint of a challenge. It isn’t Michael he’s upset with, but that doesn’t keep the hurt out of his voice. The cuts seem to blur the world around him, and he isn’t sure if it’s somehow a dulling of his senses or if the pain is actually that bad. Either way, something feels wrong, and panic sparks in Gerry’s chest.

“Your eyes are your own, Gerry.”

Gerry’s throat feels tight, and he looks down. “No, they’re not.” He can feel it now, the Beholding that had taken root in him like a tumor. And it’s fighting back against what just happened. “You should go.” He croaks.

“I...should?” Michael twines his fingers in his hair, sending curls writhing over his shoulders. “I should. Should I?”

“Yeah.” Gerry takes a deep breath, and it feels like he’s breathing through a straw. Something’s about to give, and he doesn’t know if it’s him or the Beholding. Either way, he wants—he _needs_ Michael safely away before it happens. “Get—Michael, get out.”

“You…” Michael’s face shifts and crumples, and he turns away. “Right. I suppose that makes sense.” The yellow door is in front of them, and Michael hesitates with his hand on the handle. “And should I come back?”

Gerry hesitates. _Yes_ . He wants to say. _Of course._ But the something in him that hurts, that feels increasingly alien as the pain grows, and feels like it wants to _know—_ he can’t feed it. And he certainly can’t feed it Michael. “Just go.” He chokes out instead, desperate for Michael to be gone before whatever happens happens. “Please.” His last intact tattoo, the one over his heart, stares accusingly at Michael, and Gerry puts a hand over it, holding out his other hand defensively to keep Michael from coming any closer.

Michael flinches, his face fracturing into something far less human; in the next second he’s gone, the handle twisted and broken off the door. Gerry opens his mouth to say something after him— _anything_ —realizing that Michael’s already gone and there’s no point—when it hits him.

Gerry’s on the floor before he even realizes he’s falling from his chair. He’s retching, but it’s not words, he doesn’t know what it is. It’s every set of innocent eyes he’s seen on the periphery of disaster, every burned body he’s seen, everyone who caught his eyes and hurried past, everyone his mom killed, and Michael, and _Michael,_ and it _hurts._

His arms give out, and he curls around himself on the floor, shaking. There’s books on the bookshelf, ones he hasn’t read, but they aren’t about fear so they won’t do him any good, and he doesn’t even know if he could make it over to them. He needs someone to tell him what they’ve seen—he needs it _now_ , and it tears from him, and he hears the words _TELL ME_ rip through the room like a hurricane, hears his own voice so distorted that it sounds like someone else, but there’s no one there to hear him, so it’s ok. He won’t hurt anyone. 

He won’t hurt Michael again.

It’s the last thing that makes it through his hazy mind as unconsciousness closes in around him.


	5. Ritual

Gerry’s still sore a week later.

The injuries from where his tattoos were are refusing to heal, and that might be partly because he isn’t bandaging them properly, but it’s much harder to do without help. Anyway, he doesn’t have much time.

After the disaster of the previous week, Gerry’s consuming drive to find and stop the Desolation has just...vanished. He knows he needs to stop them, because someone needs to, but he has to drag himself from bed to do it. The only upside of the situation is that it keeps him out of his apartment, where the broken handle on the door in his wall glares at him like an accusation every time he’s in the same room as it. 

He knows how he’d sounded to Michael. He hadn’t at the time, but he’s since realized what he’d said. He’s tried calling. He’s sent an _I’m sorry_ text. He hadn’t wanted Michael to _go_ , he’d just needed him to not be _there_. Michael had been protecting Gerry so much recently that Gerry had forgotten just how bad he is at protecting other people without hurting them. And now Michael is gone, and not only is it Gerry’s fault, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever even see the avatar again. Meanwhile, he’s hurt and trying to stop a ritual on his own, without the protection of the Beholding. 

Maybe it’s his own bad luck that finds him a lead. Or maybe the Beholding had been holding out on him—giving him a trickle of information when he needed a flood, just to keep him needing its alliance. He’s through with blaming such things on Michael. Either way, he finds his way to the office park the Desolation has set themselves up in not long after he peels himself up off the floor. He’d been unconscious for days after his Beholding...purge, for lack of a better term, and no one had come while he was sleeping to tuck him in under a yellow blanket. Gerry is on his own once more.

Which makes it all the more confusing when he steps into his apartment, after a day of watching the comings and goings at the office park, and someone is there waiting for him.

“Hello, Gerard.” The man stands in one fluid movement and extends a hand. “Elias Bouchard. I’ve been _so_ looking forward to meeting you.”

Gerry stares at him deadpan for a moment before depositing his backpack with a thump by the door. “That makes...one of us.” He crosses his arms, looking pointedly at Elias’s extended hand. “You don’t seriously think I’m going to take that, do you?”

Elias’s mouth twists in a smirk as he withdraws his hand. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t, having been... _burned..._ before.” 

Gerry doesn’t rise to the bait, although his heart is racing slightly. “Aren’t you Gertrude’s boss?”

“Hm.” A dry laugh escapes Elias. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Though you've met the woman; no one really... _bosses_ her.” Elias looks Gerry over carefully, and as he does a creeping sensation of being watched crawls over Gerry. “You’re not what I expected, Gerard.”

“What did you expect?”

“Someone less…” Elias gestures vaguely to Gerry’s rumpled clothes and messy hair. “You clawed your way free of the Eye’s influence; that’s impressive.”

“Impressing you isn’t really the point.” Gerry considers the door at his back. He should leave, but if Elias broke in, he doubts just walking away will get the man to leave him alone. And then there’s the feeling of being watched. Elias found him at his apartment, but Gerry gets the sense the man could find him wherever he went. “What do you want?” 

“I just wanted to get a closer look.” Elias smirks at him. “And I thought you might like some information. Since you’re no longer getting hints from the Beholding, and you’ve driven off your only ally.”

Gerry bristles, taking a step back. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Even if I told you exactly what you need to know?” Elias’ smirk grows. “You wouldn’t have to worry about _deception_ from me.”

“Stop it.” Gerry reaches for the door. “If you want to talk me to death, I’m out.”

“Who said anything about death?” Elias advances towards him. “I’m simply...killing two birds with one stone, as it were.”

“For someone who’s supposed to be good at insight, you talk in metaphor a hell of a lot.” Gerry finds he can’t move further away. “Get to the point.”

“Hm. Very well.” Elias studies Gerry intently. “The Desolation is moving forward with their plan. They have an Avatar of the Lonely that they’re planning to kill, and I'd rather they didn’t. I don’t really fancy a world run by the Desolation, do you?”

“An avatar of the Lonely?” Gerry’s interest is piqued despite himself. “I thought they were planning on going after the Beholding.”

“Yes. I can't _believe_ the fool managed to get himself caught.” Elias grimaces. “They _were_ planning on Beholding, but apparently couldn’t actually track an Avatar down.”

Gerry smirks slightly. “It’s Peter Lukas?”

Elias’s mouth twitches in a frown, and Gerry feels at least a slight amount of satisfaction at having managed to irritate him. 

“Now that they have an avatar, they don’t have any reason to put off their plans. So, if we’re going to stop them, you’ll need to go in there and rescue Peter Lukas.”

“ _I’ll_ need to go in there? Why not you?”

“Because if I manage to get Peter out, but not myself, the Desolation still gets their ritual.”

Gerry hesitates, studying him. If Gerry’s truly free of the Beholding now, he sees the man’s point. Unallied, he’s of no practical use to the desolation. “And if I say no?”

“Then I kill you the old fashioned way, and I get someone else to rescue Peter.”

Gerry raises an eyebrow. “Got a lot of candidates?”

“Yes, a staff full of them.” Elias cocks his head. “But of all the people available to me, _you_ have the best chance of surviving the encounter. Another might be able to get Peter out, but they will almost certainly die in the attempt.”

“And you're invested in me surviving the attempt...why?”

“Oh, I’m not. But you don’t strike me as the type to just let an innocent go off to their death. Especially one who isn’t prepared for this sort of thing.” Elias shrugs. “Who knows, whatever happens to them could be _worse_ than simply dying. The Desolation lot _do_ like to have their fun.”

Gerry glares at him. “Aren't your innocents allied with the Beholding?”

Elias scoffs. “Not enough for it to matter.”

Gerry hesitates. “You don't seem like the type to get your hands dirty. Why come all the way out here if you're so sure I'll do it?”

“Because we’ve got a bit of a time crunch, unfortunately.” Elias glances at his watch. “They’re going to start their ritual in roughly one hour and twenty minutes. Which is just enough time for you to get to their location and infiltrate the building.”

Gerry curses. “You couldn't have given a little more notice? Where are they, the office park, or further away?”

“I didn’t _have_ much more notice,” Elias snaps. “The bastard was hiding himself until a few hours ago.” He exhales sharply, composing himself. “They're at the office park. Building 7, top floor. The elevator doesn’t work, and they’ve been watching the stairs, but there’s an emergency stairwell they haven’t noticed. It can get you to the roof, and you’ll just have to work your way down a floor. As far as I know, they’re planning on using the shoddy engineering to burn down the whole office park. Something about poor fire safety systems. A lot of people are likely going to die either way, but if they manage to kill an avatar at the start of the fire, their ritual will be complete.”

Gerry hesitates. That matches what he knows about the building layouts too, but something is still bothering him. If time is short, and Elias has an institute full of potential fall-guys, why take the time to come out here, unless there’s a reason Elias wants Gerry, specifically, to go in? 

“Last question. This isn’t some weird, backwards way to get at Michael, is it?”

Elias laughs. “No, Gerard. I’m not interested in the Spiral, and even if I was, you did a rather good job of driving him away, didn’t you?”

Gerry grits his teeth. The fact that Elias is right doesn’t make the words hurt less. And it’s somehow _worse_ , hearing it from an avatar of—essentially—knowing things. If Gerry needed verification of just how badly he’d hurt Michael, well, that verification is standing in front of him, looking incredibly smug. Michael wouldn’t have let Gerry face another avatar alone, not when that avatar was making him gamble on his own life. But that was before. Gerry had been the one who’d done the driving away; in light of that, going in alone to try to rescue someone from the Desolation sounds...about right. Michael’s gone, and it’s Gerry’s fault, and Gerry can’t fix that. So he may as well try to fix something.

He lets out a slow breath, and finally nods at Elias. “Alright, fine. But if I go in, that’s it. I’ll take care of it. Don’t send anyone else in from your Institute, deal?”

“Deal.” Elias offers him a hand again, and this time Gerry takes it, reluctantly. Elias gives it a firm shake.

“Best of luck, Gerard.” He releases Gerry’s hand and brushes past him, letting the door close with a thud.

For a moment, Gerry just stares into his empty apartment. His eyes fall on the door handle Michael had broken on his way out, and they linger there for a long moment before he sighs, picking up his backpack from where he had dropped it and turning around, heading out the door himself.

He doesn’t bother to lock it.

It takes him nearly a full hour to get back to the office park; he has all the supplies he thinks he’ll need in his backpack, but he picks up a small fire extinguisher on the way. It’ll do him very little good, he knows, but if he has to douse Peter Lukas with it, at least the job will come with perks.

The building itself poses a bit of a challenge. He suspects the security cameras along the outside aren’t actually in use—it’s hardly the Desolation’s style to leave something intact when it’s so obviously related to another power—but he isn’t willing to gamble everything on that assumption. So it takes him nearly fifteen minutes to make it up to the roof, and by the time he does, he can smell smoke. He hasn’t heard anything yet, but that changes when he’s halfway down the short staircase that leads to the top floor. He hears Jude saying something loudly about the glory of destruction, and a greater purpose, and then muffled shouting. Gerry’s only met Peter Lukas a handful of times, but he can recognize the man’s voice. It’s enough to let Gerry know he’s just about out of time, and he can feel the heat radiating from the door of the room well before he reaches it.

It would be right about now that some eye tattoos would come in handy.

Bracing himself, Gerry shoulders open the door. The dry heat that hits his face as it opens is nearly enough to knock him back a step, but he looks around the room with stinging eyes instead.

There’s Peter Lukas, looking like an idiot tied to a chair on top of a pile of what look like books. They’re already on fire, and Lukas is struggling, his eyes panicked over his gag.

Frankly, Gerry’s surprised it isn’t something much worse.

Jude spots Gerry before he’s even three steps into the room, and he swears, breaking into a run as she shouts in wordless fury. 

Another Desolation member comes at him from the side, and Gerry does his best to dodge, letting out a cry of pain as the man’s hand closes briefly around his wrist. 

There isn’t time for anything elegant, so as soon as Gerry’s free, he tugs loose the fire extinguisher he’d bought, and starts scrambling up the pile of burning books, putting out the worst of the fires in his path as he goes. The books slide under his feet, and Gerry falls hard about halfway up, putting his hand squarely into a book that’s burned almost through to ashes. He can practically feel his skin crackling on contact, and stumbles upright as best he can, clawing his way to the top of the pile and freeing the knife from his pocket with his burned hand. He cuts Peter Lukas free without daring to look around, and the man barely glances at him before fading away, presumably vanishing directly into the Lonely and leaving Gerry to face the Desolation on his own.

_“NO!”_ Jude roars, and Gerry can feel the heat of the flames growing around him. “I’ll _kill_ you!” She charges towards him, eyes flashing, and Gerry only manages to take one step backwards before he slips again. He lands on his back, and only his backpack and long leather coat protect him as he skids down the pile. He avoids Jude more by luck than by design, and hits the ground so hard that he can’t breathe for a second. But Jude’s still coming, so he doesn’t have a choice. He’s up and running before he even takes stock of the smoldering state of his clothes, or the smell of burned hair, and he bursts through the door to the stairway without even stopping to open it properly, jarring his shoulder as it shudders and gives, weakened by the heat.

The stairs, at least, are cement, and Gerry goes down them at full speed. Faces with features like melting wax loom behind the fire doors at each level of the building, and Gerry keeps going down, not sure where else he can go. He runs out of levels far quicker than it feels like he should, and grabs the rail to yank himself back to duck underneath the last set of stairs, heart hammering, and listens for Jude.

At least the woman’s not subtle. He can hear her speaking to Desolation members, several flights up. She definitely knows he’s here, and her voice is as furious as he’s ever heard it, crackling like a flame against the roaring backdrop of the inferno that’s beginning to consume the building. That alone is terrifying enough. But he’s on the bottom level, there’s no door here, there isn’t anywhere he can go, and now she’s between him and his way out.

_Nice job, Keay_ . He thinks bitterly to himself. _Finally figured out how to stop the Desolation, and now_ _you_ _get to be that collateral damage you were so worried about. Great planning._

Pealing laughter echoes in the small space, grating on his ears, and Gerry starts slightly, looking around. He doesn’t remember the railing… _curling_ like that.

“Michael?” He whispers, his breath a hiss in the growing heat under the stairs.

“Gerry,” a familiar voice like twisting wire purrs back. “It’s getting rather hot in here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I’d noticed.” Gerry mutters. The relief he might feel at the sound of Michael’s voice is countered by how...inhuman it sounds. It occurs to him that there’s every chance his own mistakes have driven Michael deeper into the Spiral, and if that’s the case it’s not very likely the man is here to help. Not that Gerry would blame him if he simply chose not to help because of what Gerry had said. He presses back against the cool concrete just for relief from the hot air, wishing the wall wasn’t warming quite so quickly. The heat is intense enough that he can feel it through his leather jacket, but at least the smoke spiraling in the stairway is still several flights up. “Listen, I’m--I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it, I know this might not be the most convincing time for me to say so, but--could you give me a hand here?”

“Are you sure you want one?” The cutting press of Michael’s fingers drifts across Gerry’s cheek, and Gerry makes an effort not to flinch. He can feel blood dripping down his cheek. “I could give you something better, perhaps.”

Gerry wipes his cheek on the sleeve of his jacket, but it doesn’t absorb a thing, just smears blood on the leather. “What do you _want_ , Michael?” His voice is tired, and he can hear Jude coming down the stairs now, the fire roaring along with her. “If you want to talk, better make it quick. I’m a hot commodity these days.” He cringes at his own pun, hopes desperately those won’t be his last words.

“Well I _was_ going to offer you an exit, but if you’re going to be like that…” Despite the pout in his voice, Michael finally shows himself, his shifting eyes inches from Gerry’s own. “I don’t know why I’d expect anything different. You’ve already shown me what you think of my doors.” The bitterness in Michael’s voice curls the paint from the walls, leaving behind a chipped yellow door. “Unless you really have changed your mind.”

Gerry feels his eyes dart to the door. It _is_ an escape, but…an escape to what? He’s trapped between two powers, and, well, he knows what he’s dealing with when it comes to the lightless flame, but Michael, especially now…

He searches the man’s face. Or, he tries to. It gives him a shooting pain in his head.

“I thought…” He hesitates, then decides not to think. He leans forward and kisses Michael. For a moment the man is perfectly still; then the avatar is crowding into Gerry’s space, kissing him hungrily. His mouth is all edges and somehow still soft against Gerry’s lips, and one of Michael’s hands presses against Gerry’s chest, barely pricking him despite their sharpness. It occurs to Gerry that maybe getting burned to a crisp would be ok, as long as he gets to have this first.

It _is_ still almost unbearably hot under the stairs, but Gerry elects to ignore it, even as smoke starts to fill the space, threatening to choke him. He leans forward, disregarding the way it presses him against Michael’s hand, cutting his chest neatly in five places, and kisses him harder, more desperately, using the leverage of the wall to give himself purchase. He doesn’t know if it’s possible to put an apology into a kiss, but he tries very hard to. One of his hands cups the nape of Michael’s neck, and he lets the man’s razorwire hair twist around it, trapping it there. 

He almost doesn’t hear when Jude arrives.

“Am I interrupting something?” Her voice promises pain, practically drips with threat, and Gerry feels his breath catch in his chest as the enormity of the danger he’s in comes crashing down over him once again. He’d just interrupted the desolation’s _ritual_. He hasn’t even left the building yet. And the smoke--Gerry forces himself not to cough, but if he doesn’t miss his guess, soon it’ll be hot enough to burn his lungs. He tries, unsuccessfully, to hold his breath.

“Yes,” Michael says, unimpressed. “Maybe you’d like to leave?” He pulls away from Gerry slightly to flash Jude an impossibly wide grin. “I’ll give you one chance to go on your own terms. It would be smart for you to take it.”

“Prior claim, I’m afraid. See that burn on his hand?” Jude’s smile is vicious, and Gerry clenches a fist around the burn on his palm. However this ends, it doesn’t end well for him. And he can’t quite stomach the thought of Michael fighting the lightless flame, especially on his behalf. Now that he’s been released by the man, he inches towards Michael’s door. “I’d think twice about that, if I were you.” Jude’s expression is incredibly smug, and Gerry jerks back when he touches the doorknob, burning himself yet again on the metal.

Michael laughs, louder than before and decidedly less friendly. “You shouldn’t try to manipulate my door, Jude. You may not like where it leads.” The stairs around Jude start to buckle and bend, and Jude does her best to look unimpressed, but unless Gerry’s mistaken, she’s sweating. He didn’t even know she could do that.

Either way, he has bigger worries. He sheds his leather coat quickly and wraps it around his hand before making another go at the door. The handle is reluctant to turn, but he gets it, just as the jacket around his hand erupts into flame. He throws it off and rushes through the door, slamming it behind him and cutting off the sound of Jude screaming from somewhere near the stairs.

“Fuck.” He lets himself lean back against the wall, take a few breaths of air that don’t smell like burning hair. “ _Fuck_.” He looks at the door, notes the glow around the edges, and stumbles backwards a few steps. “Fuck!”

Michael’s still on the other side. He’s… a fear diety’s avatar, sure, but he’s not _fireproof_ , as far as Gerry knows. And--Gerry’s heart drops as he realizes that Michael is an _avatar_ , exactly what the desolation needs to salvage their ritual.

“Michael!” He moves back towards the door, but if Jude is attacking Michael, there isn’t exactly time to wait. He shields his face with one arm and kicks at the door, trying to get it open without touching the handle. He can feel the heat coming through the sole of his boot, but he doesn’t have a _choice_ , he’s not just going to let her--

All at once, the door vanishes from in front of him, leaving an empty stretch of corridor. Gerry stumbles and catches himself (barely), and stares back at the space where the door had been.

“Michael?”

For a long moment, there’s no response, and panic burns hot in Gerry’s chest, but before he can do anything drastic another door appears. This time the yellow paint looks fresh; it’s so bright that it’s almost painful to look at, and it seems to swim in his vision the longer he stares at it.

He takes a step towards it, and when this one doesn’t vanish he almost immediately breaks into a run, rushing through the door and into his own apartment. The place is as empty as it was that morning, and he comes stumbling to a stop, hardly noticing the ashy footprints he’s leaving. He turns back to look at the door, but it’s already gone, and he blinks at the space where it had been. This is very…on brand for Michael, but…

“Michael?” When there’s no response, Gerry makes a frustrated sound and gets out a cigarette, barely managing to light it. He almost doesn’t notice that his hands are shaking. “Fine, be cagy if you want, asshole. I just wanted to know if you were alright.”

“You shouldn’t smoke those, you know.” Michael’s voice is soft, but it still startles Gerry, and the cigarette falls to the carpet, where it almost instantly tries to light.

“Fuck—” Gerry tries to grind the burning out with his foot, and when he looks up again, Michael is peering at him. It’s harder than usual to make the man out, and Gerry moves towards him, worried.

“You…you didn’t have to do that.” He tells Michael. “With Jude—I would have taken your door.”

Michael smiles at him, a twist to it that doesn’t seem to come entirely from the Spiral. “She tried to stop you. So I stopped her.”

Gerry suspects he’s not going to get anywhere with this line of arguing, so he drops it. For now. “But what about…how did you know I needed help?”

Michael hesitates; the lights in Gerry’s apartment cast fractals on the walls. “I was staying close to you. You get in trouble an awful lot, for someone as…” He taps Gerry’s chest lightly. “As _squishy_ as you are.”

“I’m not _squishy_.” Gerry tells him, affronted. He ignores the fact that he’s smeared with ash and blood and some of it’s directly from Michael stabbing him, but he’s pretty sure he knows exactly what Michael means. “You’re avoiding the question; are you ok?”

“…Yes.” Michael doesn’t elaborate, and Gerry is sure he’s lying, or at least not being straightforward, but what else is new?

“Yes to which part?” Gerry moves towards him, trying not to move so fast that Michael simply leaves. “I tried to get back through the door.”

“I know.” Michael frowns. “You were safer inside, and I…”

“But _you_ were outside!” Gerry’s voice is frustrated, and he takes another step forward. “The door was hot, Michael, I could practically see fire around the edges—”

“…Yes.” Michael flinches, so imperceptibly Gerry almost misses it. “But once you were safe, I could leave. Jude had no power to hold me there, and…” A smile creeps across his face. “She’s gotten herself rather lost.”

“You _did_ get hurt.” It’s not a question this time, and Gerry finally reaches Michael. Throwing caution to the wind for, oh, the hundredth time today, he reaches out and takes Michael’s hand.

He cuts himself, of course. But the way Michael leans into his touch makes it worth it. The man takes a shuddering breath, making the air seem to stretch around them.

“I’ll be alright,” he assures Gerry quietly. “I’m certainly better off than you would have been if you’d stayed.”

Gerry stares up at him, and finally leans up to kiss him again. “I’m sorry I left, all the same.” He tells Michael between kisses that taste like his own blood. They leave his head buzzing and his mouth numb, but he doesn’t care, because Michael is kissing him back. The man twists around him and it makes him dizzy, breathless, and then Michael is pressing him against the wall, kissing him hard.

Gerry isn’t sure this is a good idea. That puts it right up alongside most of the other ideas he’s ever had, and anyway unlike most of those, he’s _enjoying_ this one. He realizes that what Michael’s pressed him up against isn’t actually the wall, it’s another door. And he can’t be bothered to remember if it’s one that’s always been there or not, he just gropes for the handle and lets himself fall flat on his ass, Michael on top of him when the door swings open.

Michael smiles at him, sharp and lovely; for an avatar of a fear god, his weight on top of Gerry is surprisingly welcome. The man presses a pointed kiss to Gerry’s throat.

“You seem to be using my doors a lot today,” he murmurs, and the words make the floor under them curl up like wood shavings. “Do you like them?”

Gerry laughs, and it sounds nothing like Michael’s laugh, but Michael seems to like it anyway. The avatar arches like a pleased cat, and Gerry finds himself grinning up at him, breathless, reckless, his head swimming like he’s drunk.

“Hell, I’ll try anything once.” He says, and he thinks maybe Michael understands he means he’ll try certain things a _lot_ of times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!! Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments; they make our day! :) 
> 
> This is the end of this fic, but! We have a lot more written in this au, so this will actually be the start of a series! We didn’t realize we would need to split it up at first, though, so we’ve updated the character tags on this fic (but the rest of the archives crew will definitely be making appearances later in the series!)
> 
> Thank you all again!!! :)


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